A tattoo shop in Venice Beach is a terrible idea.

There's nowhere to park.

I keep taking the bus here. Because Walker keeps driving me home. But now…

Where the hell is the bus stop anyway?

I pull my cell from my purse. Unlock the screen. A drop falls on it.

A tear.

I blink and another catches on my lashes.

Fuck.

This is bad.

This is so bad.

No… it's worse than bad.

It's over.

That look in his eyes…

He hates me.

He hates me and there's nothing I can do about it.

"Hey." Heels click on the pavement. "Shit." They stumble. "These stupid shoes are too loose." Leighton catches herself. She takes a shaky step forward. Forces her raspberry lips into a smile.

"I appreciate whatever this is, but—"

"You want to take the bus?"

"How did you…"

She motions to the bus stop to my left.

Oh. Duh. I'm way too out of it. "I'll be fine."

She pulls her keys from her purse. "I'm leaving. This is my last offer."

"I…" I press my lips together. "Did you hear everything?"

"Enough."

"You think I'm a liar too?"

"It's none of my business."

"You really believe that?"

She presses her lips to one side. "Depends on the day." She motions to the street to our right and nods follow me.

I don't want to take the bus.

And she isn't looking at me like I'm the scum of the Earth.

I follow her down the side street. We walk in silence for a few blocks.

She hits her key fob and an old silver sedan's lights turn on. "Go ahead." She motions to the passenger side door.

"Thanks." I open it. Slide into the car. Click my seatbelt.

She gets in, slides the key into the ignition, looks to me. "You, um… You live in Brentwood, right?"

"Yeah. It's easiest to take eleventh to Wilshire."

She nods sure, turns the key, puts the car in drive.

Music flows through the speakers. Something familiar. It was popular when I was in high school. Well, Leighton looks about my age, maybe a little younger, so I guess it was popular when we were in high school.

I lean back in my seat. Smooth my dress. Press my heels together.

She's quiet as she pulls onto eleventh.

I watch the sun sink into the horizon. The pink sky is beautiful. But it doesn't stick.

"Can I ask you something?" My voice is soft. Unsteady.

She nods. "Shoot."

"Do you think Walker will forgive me?"

"Honestly?"

"Yeah."

"No."

My stomach drops. She's right. I know that. But hearing another person say it…

Fuck.

She turns onto Wilshire.

"You think I'm an asshole?" I ask.

"Did he really lay on that 'the past doesn't matter' shit?"

"Yeah."

"Then no. You're not an asshole. You made a mistake. Everyone does."

"Will he ever see it that way?"

"I hope so." Her fingers tap the dash. "But I really don't know."